Backdrops, Drinks, and The Most Important Thing
by myrhymesarepurer
Summary: fmab / post-promised day / "You have lipstick on your mouth." He didn't. But, with the way Roy jumped, the Fuhrer of Amestris knew he'd hit the nail on the head.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey. I'm new. And,** _ **I'm in lots of**_ **therapy**  
So, we're gonna try something called speed writing.  
Instead of spending a year perfecting fanfiction that is pretty much utterly meaningless, I'm gonna put things down on paper. Kinda proofread. And TAKE OUT THAT FREAKING STRESS (woo).

Consequently, the quality may go down. Typos may go up. But, whatever. This isn't my favorite Royai scenario in my head. But, they're too perfect to not write anything. Nearly all of the idea is fleshed out and in writing. But, let's dip our toes in the water shall we?

Tell me what you think.

* * *

 **CHAPTER ONE**

"You leave for old Ishval soon I gather?"

Fuehrer Grumman already knew that.  
He's the one who signed the papers.

After all, a full-blown restoration required the Leader of the State's deep and diligent involvement. But, so was the nature of small talk: stating obvious facts already known by both parties and stringing them along for as long as possible.

Riza Hawkeye knew that her relationship with her newly discovered grandfather was to be like this: stiff, uncomfortable. And for a long long while. But, she grinned – as much as Riza Hawkeye might be expected to – and decided to bear it. She muscled through and managed to respond from the small bathroom suite right off his office.

"Yes, Sir."

At least she could relish the fact he was sticking to work talk.  
She could do that. She knew how to do that.

Lieutenant Colonel Hawkeye smoothed her elegant black dress and stared into the bathroom mirror. It was an incredible gown. She felt she didn't match the piece. She belonged in her uniform.

But, the Fuhrer sent out for the dress himself.  
And, he accidently left the price tag on.  
And, with the measure of general interest he had shown in her wellbeing,there was no option. She had to wear the gown. For the whole night.

And, she had to pretend to like it.

"I leave with General Mustang's brigade at the end of the week."  
"Quite convenient, then, that my birthday's today, isn't it, my dear?"

She was nearly positive he'd pushed their departure back for exactly that reason. They could have left two days ago, Saturday. But, as much as Riza was still uncomfortable around her grandfather, she did like him. So, she smiled when she stepped from the bathroom.

"Yes, Sir. A happy coincidence."

 _So_ not a coincidence.

"Oh my dear Riza," the Fuhrer's mouth took the opportunity to pick up another cupcake from his personally ordered silver tray and cram it into his mouth.

"You look just like your father."

Uh.

"I'm not certain that's a compliment, Sir."

"Oh," Grumman waved the technicality away, "Of course, far more lovely. And,far less like a man. " He sucked the icing off his fingers, "More like my beautiful daughter, now that I ponder it."

Hawkeye stifled a sweet chuckle, "Thank you, Sir."

The Fuhrer frowned at his granddaughter's persistent formality.  
"Grandpa?"

They'd gone through this.  
Riza gave him a look he had learned very quickly after they met.  
The one that said she wasn't having it. The one she said she was determined to win. And, after that look, she usually did.

But, they had that in common, she and her grandfather.  
Neither of them were used to losing despite their greatly differing personalities.  
And, that was the only reason he pressed on.

"Grandpa Grumman?"  
" _Fuhrer_ Grumman." Hawkeye crossed her arms.

"Grumman?" He was proud of his new idea. But, his granddaughter always won the fight when she resorted to the semi-formal,

" _Sir_."

Her grandfather shrugged in surrender, but sill smiled wide. Then shoved another cupcake in his mouth upping his count to 5 so far, regardless of the fact that the dinner and dance being held in his honor started in, like, 20 minutes.

"Baby steps."

Gruman turned to his desk, unlocked the top drawer and held up a finger,  
"One more thing."

"Surely, Sir. You've given me enough," Riza began in disbelief.  
His ongoing generosity for the past month wasn't exactly something she knew how to handle. With the reclaiming of the state, the conquering of the Promised Day, after the long recovery and now the beginning of the restoration, quite quickly was Riza pushed out of her comfort zone, for quite quickly did the backdrops in front of which she stood ever change. Backdrops indeed they were, as the reality in which she did blend involved combat, firearms, bombs, terrorists, you name it.

But, with her introduction to her "new" grandfather, and the "normalization" of life in the aftermath, screens began to be lowered behind them all. Ones that felt strange after such a long period of internal and external battle. And, she was expected to adjust.

Life had to go on. It always had to go on.  
She just didn't quite understand why everything  
had to be so different, so unnerving.

Her grandfather, she supposed, was making up for years of gifts and spoils lost. So, here she was, under special invitation to join him daily for lunch, then dinner, then to his office on his birthday where she received a princess-like treatment, as if she was one to deserve it. She didn't belong there.

"First the outings, the gifts, the dress. Your _outstanding_ _generosity_ to set me up with-," Hawkeye swallowed her severe sarcasm, "with a date for your party. Certainly, you've given me enough. I cannot possibly-"

"Nonsense. This pulls it all together," He said holding up a simple, beautiful diamond pendant.

At that moment she was truly shut up for a moment. It was gorgeous. A lavish piece of jewelry to match the lavish backdrop forced behind her.

Maybe it would help her blend. It was dazzling after all.

"Go on," he smiled, noticing her wonder. He motioned toward the bathroom, and she stepped onto the tile and in front of the mirror, searching from the clasp. Grumman went for another cupcake,

"Your date will be here any sec-"

There was a knock.

"There you are!"

"Fuhrer Grumman, pleasure to see you, Happy Birthday, Sir."

Brigadier General Roy Mustang was as formal and respectful as he ever was as he grinned at his mentor and Fuhrer. Yet, his salute was short lived as Grumman met him will a firm pat on the back.

Lieutenant Colonel Hawkeye, his finest of subordinates, her salute was strong. She wasn't thinking much. The action was a habit once he walked into any room. She had finished the clasp to her necklace just in time and swiftly held her hand to her head.

"Sir."

She wasn't looking at him straight. So, she didn't see his eyes when she came out of the bathroom. They widened, like, ten times their normal size.

He was glad, because of the lack of eye contact,  
she couldn't quite notice him totally checking her out.  
Wait, she did notice.

 _There_ was the glare.  
She lowered her hand and he responded with some kind of smirk and a spin of the flowers in his hand.

"You look divine, Lieutenant Colonel."

Riza didn't have too much time to respond to him rather sketchy and insincere compliment before her grandfather dropped the bomb on the unsuspecting couple.

"Riza, dear, this is your date for the evening."

The two turned to stone.  
The Fuhrer lifted his tray to them, as if to soften the blow.

"Cupcake?" 

* * *

**So, how many typos were there?**


	2. Chapter 2

Well, let's see how this episode of **Shelby Speed Writes** turned out.  
Continuing on with dat plot.  
Weeeeeeeeeeeee.

* * *

CHAPTER TWO 

"Say again, Sir?"

Hawkeye stared at her grandfather, wide eyed and in a tad bit of utter and complete shock. Of course, this situation, no doubt, was one that had crossed her mind a time or two when she was eighteen. Well, more like sixteen. Maybe a little earlier.

But, then their brains were washed by war  
and struggle  
and near constant pain.

And, now she was shocked to see something of the sort  
rear its ugly head again, forcing itself to be dealt with.

Meanwhile, in more of a nervous anger,  
all of Roy's renown formality and respect  
flew straight out the window.

"What's going on, Grumman?"

In response, the man punched him in the arm.  
Hard.  
 _Really_ hard.

Roy doubled over nearly onto the floor.  
Riza didn't even flinch.

"Did that hurt?" the Fuhrer asked Roy.  
"YES," Mustang barked.

"Then you're not dreaming."  
Grumman gave a sparkling grin  
as if he thought himself all too clever.

"No one said I thought I was dreaming."  
Roy managed to mutter through his pain.

He might as well have thought so.  
He actually did have a dream like this a couple of times.

Maybe a little bit more graphic.

"Sirs, can one of you please-"

Riza did her best to speak.  
She needed to know.  
She needed information.

This couldn't have-  
They needed to-

This was just weird. But, the teacher and his protégée just kept jabbering. And, it took all of Riza's strength to keep quiet and hope they would say something the least bit helpful.

"I told you I'd make it happen."  
"Yes, but-"  
"And, you never protested."  
"Well, you are right there."  
"So now, the time has come," Grumman outstretched his hand toward his granddaughter. "You may have her."

"You told him _what_?"

" _Have_ _her_?" Roy hadn't heard Riza and her reaction to such a gesture as the Fuhrer's to give her away. But, he was tentative. He knew Riza Hawkeye was not one to be owned in any fashion.

"Only for the night, of course." Grumman practically sparkled, "With my blessing."

 _His blessing?_ Anger surged violently through Hawkeye's veins. Mustang could nearly feel it coming from across the room. She would have reached for the gun strapped to her thy if her sense to not outline her superior (nor the _Fuhrer of Amestris_ ) with bullets on the plaster behind them hadn't gotten the best of her.

"SIR."

"Yes?" "Yes?"

Mustang responded with concern,  
the Fuhrer, with an arrogant swagger.  
She had decided on that name for him after all.

She could have gone with Grandpa.

"General Mustang." she specified, ice cold.  
"May I speak to you outside?"

"Certainly," he hid a nervous gulp as he finally looked up to her. He, of course, was taken aback once more by her beauty. She was exquisite.

But, Mustang ignored that fact, only slightly more scared of her than he was dazzled, as always. He stepped to the door and held it open for his date.

"Excuse us."

Hawkeye didn't even add a Fuhrer, a Sir, nothing.

"Don't think of it. You should leave now anyway. Dinner starts in…"

The Fuhrer moved to his desk, checked the clock

and finished his last cupcake, "10 minutes."

"DON'T BE LATE!" he called after them with as much victorious showmanship as he could muster while Hawkeye pushed Roy through the room as quick as possible.

The door slammed. Mustang's Lieutenant crossed her arms  
and lowered her voice to a lethal, caustic whisper.

"Did you know about this?"  
"Not at all."

This dynamic wasn't uncommon between the Brig and his Lieutenant. Often he did something relatively stupid and often did she have to clean up the mess, both in and out of combat. The in-between point was where the yelling and reprimanding he deserved resided. Usually it had to be very short, short enough for Hawkeye to load her gun and shoot.

However, when out of combat, this period could happily last much longer. He could finally get what he deserved, all of Hawkeye's fury in return for all of his foolishness.

Unfortunately, when her anger was allowed to breathe, the flame simple fed off the fuel and grew bigger and bigger. And, this time, you could basically add a gallon of gasoline because, this time, Mustang's stupid move may have had a motive behind it that would just be so inconvenient that, this time, Hawkeye could have burned down the entirety of Central Command.

Mustang held up his hands in innocence.  
"Swear."

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

She, of course, had a talent for telling when Roy Mustang was fibbing. Because, many times, at least to her, he was. Even when there was solid proof against his story. Like Riza's teddy bear that never recovered after he had deconstructed it with his sketchy form of beginning alchemy just to put it back together all wrong.

She was still a little bit scarred by that.

But, alone in that hallway, Riza studied Roy thoroughly and saw nothing of the same gleam that appeared in his eye when he lied about ruining her belongings.  
She relaxed.

Then Roy smiled slyly.  
"Not that I'm complaining,"

That comment, of course, didn't lighten her anxiety at all  
So, Riza ignored it all together, chalking it up to hormones,  
and then let her mind race in analysis.

If he didn't know that meant it was a blind date on _both_ ends. It meant she didn't have to face the fact that Roy may have requested the evening with her. She didn't have to deal with the fact that, if that were the case, he hadn't the guts to ask her himself like a gentleman and instead used her fragile relationship with her new grandfather to ensure her consent.

But, none of it was true.  
None of that had to be addressed.  
Nor how she _felt_ about the aforementioned,  
romantically or otherwise.

"You have to forgive him, Sir. Fuhrer Grumman has been desperate to set me up since the day we met as relatives."

One thing Riza Hawkeye knew in the back of her mind that eventually Roy Mustang would be considered as a suitor. And, she was completely prepared to protest. She was totally equipped for this moment.

"I hope dearly that you don't take this as an offense or a misery. It simply seems to be his nature to be highly concerned about my romantic affairs."

She chased after him down the hall; her elegant dress gliding behind her like some sort of cloud. Roy kept walking and purposefully didn't look back.

"You're not technically complaining either,"  
he observed, tilting his head in thought.

Then, Riza started to ramble making sure Mustang understood exactly how she felt about the situation and exactly how that night was going to proceed all before they reached the Fuhrer's ballroom. Without being disrespectful, of course.

"The benefit of such a situation is that I do have a close cover for your security detail this evening. Perhaps the Fuhrer only called upon these… _conditions_ for your protection and safety."

There wasn't much need for the high level security she spoke of during peace time, even with Roy Mustang's long list of rogue and rebel enemies. Roy knew this, so he smiled and spun around to face her.

"Lieutenant. It's a shame you find it necessary to  
make up such scenarios to save you from a nice date."

"I'm simply entertaining the very real possibility  
that perhaps a security detail is what the Fuhrer was after."

He lifted an eyebrow at her turning the corner as he began to walk again.

"You don't have anything to worry about, you know," He put his hand on the small of her back and pushed her up to be inline with him, "I have a lot of experience. I'll guide you through."

Hawkeye made a face.

"I don't need _guidance_ ," she found herself blurting out then quickly composed the thought into something more eloquent.

"I've been on dates before, Sir. In fact, I have them quite often."

What?  
He stopped with a jolt to the point where she nearly ran into him.  
More like ran over him, though. Because in that moment, with that comment,  
she was _really_ mad.

"When?"

He hadn't given her permission to do that.  
Since when did she have the time, or the energy to see other men.

"My life outside the office isn't much of your business, Sir."  
"But, it's _some_ of my business. As your superior."

Riza stared at him in utter disbelief. Her ' _really_ mad' shot up to 'furious.'  
Roy bit his lip in thought trying to make himself feel better.

"Anyone higher in rank?"  
"Nearly always."  
"You're bluffing."

He began to walk it off, briskly. Hawkeye struggled to keep up stumbling about her heels, trying to hold on to any dignity. She had never seen his ego so inflated. And, that spoke volumes.

He had to be joking.  
Good news was, he was joking. Mostly.

But, his Lieutenant had already been insulted, "given away", and forced into an evening with a hardheaded, stuck up child. Certainly, she would still have to be less of a date and more of a baby sitter. And, even though she strongly protested the nature of her evening all together, the fact that he would deprive her of a nice night due to his egotistical tendencies…

She just-  
The only thing she could do was stick to the cover idea. That was a good idea. It was just a cover. She was his security detail, no more no less. Because in that situation, she wasn't insulted. For the most part.

"Alright, Lieutenant. Have it your way." Roy stopped in front of two large, beautiful oak doors and smirked at her over his shoulder.

"Joke's on you though."  
"How so?" She crossed her arms again.

He grabbed one of them, against her pull back,  
and through his. Unwillingly, she was frozen.

"Cover or no, you still have to be on a date."

Then he opened the doors and she was punched in the face with an atmosphere she wasn't the least bit familiar with. Jewels, perfume, perfectly crafted h'orderves. Everyone was graceful and cheerful and care free.

She didn't fit in front of such elegance.  
And, she certainly didn't fit on the arm of a man like Roy Mustang.  
That just made things way worse.

And, to top it all off, the General was thoroughly enjoying her nightmare.  
A waiter floated by with a tray of champagne.  
He snatched one and held it in front of her.

"You're gonna need this."

* * *

 **Review?**  
 **That'd be cool.**

If there's a lot of typos,  
it's because I have a lot of issues.


	3. Chapter 3

**I've had this one written for a long time.**  
 **Woo. This is getting fun, right?**  
 **Are you having fun?**

 **Also. There's a particular part at the end where everything**  
 **gets really self-reflexive. Up to you whether that risk worked or not.  
**

* * *

"Hawkeye?"

Jean Havoc froze mid-sit across from his highly uncomfortable superiors  
at the first of two long tables taking up the ballroom.

"Hawkeye."

He said her name again as if to try to comprehend what exactly he was seeing.  
Roy crammed lettuce into his mouth trying to forget the same thing on which Havoc was trying to focus.

It seemed he was able to keep up his façade in front of Riza: calm, smooth, collected. But, inside the General's head all alarms were at full blast. The two hadn't talked or touched or looked at each other much since he pulled out her chair for her, ordered a drink for himself, and downed it.

Since then, he just acted as if he just really liked his salad.  
And, it was a godsend that Havoc when he did.

It was getting too quiet for it to seem like Roy was still keeping his cool.  
It was already too quiet for Hawkeye not to need another drink.

"Breda, come here," Jean called a lifeline, "Hawkeye's in a dress. Like a slinky one."

It wasn't _slinky_ , she thought.  
It was rather classy. Black, Highback, soft Queen Anne neckline.  
Sure, it was kinda tight and maybe silky-ish. But, it wasn't _slinky_.

Maybe it was.

Either way, Jean was having trouble computing Hawkeye in the dress, slinky or otherwise.  
Unfortunately, Breda had stopped ahead awhile back, grabbing two extra bread baskets for their table.  
Or, rather, for himself.

So, Havoc was alone in his trial and resorted to the man in front of him,  
who, on any other day, would have probably been a stronger resource.

"Mustang," Roy looked up,  
"Hawkeye. Is. In. A dress."

Roy just raised an eyebrow as if to ask why he should care.  
But, Havoc secretly knew he cared.  
He cared a whole lot.

"WOAH."

Breda finally arrived at the table.  
He looked at Mustang and pointed.

"Hawkeye's in a dress."

Jean through his hands up in agreement,  
"That's what I was saying!"

"Lower your voices, gentlemen," Riza said  
before elegantly sipping her second glass of wine.

But, who was counting.

"Oh wow." Fuery sat down.  
Breda squinted his eyes and leaned closer.

"She has makeup on too"  
It seemed Heymans brain broke.  
"But, why?"

They all looked to Roy, and when he didn't look up and respond with his normal snarky bits of wisdom, Havoc became very concerned.

It was one thing for Mustang to avoid admitting the fact that Lieutenant Hawkeye was attractive. But, it was another thing completely when he didn't deal with his feelings childishly and join in on the tease.

"…Boss?"

Mustang did look up. But the look wasn't friendly.  
He didn't want to be bothered about it again.

He didn't have any salad left.  
No salad. No distraction.

Why did she have to smell so good?

It was paralyzing.  
So, Kain took over the job of justifying the dolled up Lieutenant Colonel,  
folding his napkin over his lap in the process.

"There was an option, we didn't have to go in formal uniform."  
"But, it's easier this way." Breda said motioning to his own.

"Did you at least clean yours?" Falman deadpanned while he completed the table.  
"I didn't have time." Breda mumbled.

The group started to snicker.  
Minus Mustang.  
Minus Hawkeye.  
Havoc noticed the tension.

"I still think it's weird."

Breda turned back the conversation back on Hawkeye.  
It was then when Falman finally joined the conversation.

"Yeah, what did get into you, Riza?  
You do look quite different."

That comment could have been taken several ways. Kain seemed to blush a little as he leaned forward and made sure she knew what the Second Lieutenant meant.

"Regardless of reason, you look divine, Lieutenant Colonel."

Riza smiled beautifully, **  
**"Thank you, Kain. That's sweet of you."

"What the hell, Hawkeye?"

Roy couldn't help but react on the slight burning of jealousy bubbling in his stomach. But, in attempt to conceal said jealousy, he brought the conversation down to a biting whisper. And smirked at her. As if he were joking.

He wasn't.

"I said the _exact_ same thing. You didn't thank _me_."

"Forgive me if I question your sincerity, General," **  
**Riza didn't turn to him. Roy leaned closer as the focus of their easily distracted excuse for a team was quickly drawn to the loot of bread Breda had snagged.

"I'm always sincere when speaking to beautiful women."  
" _Women_. Precisely,"

Riza cut him a signature glare. And, Jean, not as taken with the food as the other three, finally asked the question that pressed on him since he sat down.

"What is _wrong_ with you two?"

And, at that moment, the Brigader General stopped speaking to his Lieutenant. Rather, Roy Mustang was speaking to his life long hardass best friend, Riza Hawkeye, who was the only woman who would never admit that he was the least bit attractive. A conversation between the two, particularly informal, was a rare sight to see.

"What do you have against my astounding track record  
with the lovely ladies of Amestris?"  
 **  
**"Pardon me, General," **  
**Riza dropped her fork on her plate with a clank, dabbed her lips with her napkin, and in all her fury, completely forgot about her voice level.

"But, your track record not only decreases your sincerity,  
but the alleged honor that is mine for being your _date_ this evening."

Their section of the long table fell silent.

The faintest blush cursed Riza's face. She hid, closing her eyes and rubbing her forehead. Roy turned to his team, wide-eyed and shocked.

He really wanted to hide that detail of the evening from at least Havoc for as long as possible. He knew _things_.  
Somehow.

Things Roy wouldn't address.

He had never told him. He didn't have to.  
Jean Havoc, though he appeared all muscle, was rather astute.

" _You two_ …" Breda managed to speak, "Are on a date?"

"It's my birthday." The Fuhrer took his seat at the head of the table.

That's when, suddenly, the Mustang unit realized their proximity to the head of Amestris, as wells as the proximity of the issue to the Fuhere's closest interests.

"Don't they make a lovely couple?" Gruman grinned.

Falman was shocked.  
Breda sat dumbfounded.  
Havoc started laughing.  
Fuery leaned over the table and whispered.

"It's a cover, right? Is something wrong?"

"Fuery." Mustang warned.

What was it with both he and Hawkeye insisting that the idea of the two on a date together would only come about during a matter of security.

He was a good date.  
Most every woman wanted a date with him.  
So what was with this one?

"If it was a cover, Fuery, they wouldn't tell you," Breda said.  
"Oh, right. Sorry."

Havoc, giggling finally under control,  
placed his elbows on the table and folded his hands  
mischievously.

"The question is…" he smirked, "Is this "cover" actually a cover for the fact that these two actually want to be on a date."

The four examined their superiors, trying to crack the code,  
and suddenly realizing that could be a possibility.  
Riza drank her wine.  
Roy cleared his throat.

"My money's on that one."  
Havoc leaned back, hands behind his head and smiled at the General.  
"You can almost just reach out and touch the romantic tension."

That's when Hawkeye pulled the pistol from her thigh  
and aimed at Havoc without even looking up.

"You have guns on you?"  
Falman was only a little surprised.

"Does that affect whether it's a real date or not?"  
Breda wondered.

Riza pulled another pistol from the bosom of her dress, aiming them in such a way where no one man at that table would leave without bleeding slowly to death.

The four threw their hands up and chanted,  
"Definitely not a date. Definitely not a date."

Hawkeye cocked the guns, for since she and Roy, or, at least, _she_ decided the affair was, in fact, a cover, the four's chant wouldn't suffice.

So, quickly Falman changed his mind, "Most certainly a date."  
"Totally a date," followed Fuery.  
"I believed it the whole time." Breda added.  
"Oh, yes. You two are meant for each other."

Havoc dared to smirk at Roy.  
Mustang stared him in the eye and bit off a bread stick.  
Hawkeye finished her wine and raised her finger to the passing waiter for another.  
Grumman, all the while munching on his salad, watching the show,  
he shot up his glass into the air and exclaimed. "Here, here!"

And, the room of 200+ mindlessly echoed the Fuhrer, to which Grumman slyly used to give the couple a grin as if he was _finally_ in good company. Just then, it at least appeared that everyone in Amestris now shipped Royai.

* * *

 **How'd it go?**  
 **Review?**


	4. Chapter 4

**SOMEONE REVIEWED**. THANK YOU, MY FRIEND. I'm so glad you're enjoying it.  
No! It's not over. Here's the next chapter.

These are getting p smol. This one was also p speedy. So, be on the look out for typos.  
And things that don't make sense in general. **  
**

* * *

CHAPTER FOUR

Neither of them understood why they _had_ to dance. They could have just talked, _appeared_ together, and avoided the uncomfortable partner proximity required by a waltz.

Except for the fact that they were encouraged, or, rather, _ordered_ by the Fuhrer to do so. As a plus, the Mustang Unit had voted, cover or otherwise, that dancing was mandatory for the date to be both believable and legitimate.

So, they watched - and school-girl-giggled - while Mustang offered his hand to Hawkeye who gracefully played her part and floated onto the ballroom floor with her superior.

After that though, the group dispersed rather quickly, losing interest due to their bosses' inability to squirm under pressure. They were too good at their jobs.  
It was a mission. Business as usual. They looked fine.

It was boring.

But, on the other side of the fence, both the General and his Lieutenant were at DEFCON 1. They may have been free from the team's teasing and inquires. But, now, they were alone.

Alone to try not to think about the other.  
Alone to have nothing to talk about other than the filet.

"Dinner was good."  
"Yes."

She nodded politely.  
He spun her.

"And desert."  
"Delightful."

Riza felt as if she could hurl.  
Due to the motion _and_ the crappy small talk.

But, at least the spinning allowed Hawkeye to sweep the perimeter casually while the close quarters reduced the probability of the General getting away from her long enough to do something stupid.

If there was a security threat,  
she could shut it down in seconds.

But, it seemed that for the life of her she couldn't keep her cover up to par.  
Roy Mustang had never been good at the waltz, but he was good at faking it.  
His Lieutenant lacked such talent

She was stiff as a board, his hand resting on the small of her back.  
They were too close. She shifted.

"Something wrong?"

"I just hate dresses," she lied, shifting again beneath the palm of his hand.

"Haven't you always?" he smiled at her, resisting the urge to put his forehead on hers. He really didn't want to, honest But, gravity was a force to be reckoned with.  
It _was_ gravity, right?

However, almost as always,  
Roy Mustang prevailed.  
For now.

"I have." She confirmed, surprised he remembered,  
"But, I always wore them when I was young becau-"

"Your mother had liked them."

Hawkeye nodded. Their long history was sometimes comforting.  
She finally could meet his eyes as he softly smiled at her.  
She gave a beautiful, simple, and sweet smile in return.

That exchange.

That's when, suddenly and simultaneously, the two lost their game, their nerve, and all the confidence and ego either of them had left. That's when everything derailed.

And, it all started when Roy smirked arrogantly.

"See. Personal conversation." He lifted his eyebrows  
and confronted her golden eyes with , "You're learning."

"Sir?"

"Most serious dates consist of such conversation."  
 _Serious_. Why did he say that?  
Roy pushed through.

"Dinner, dancing, getting to know one another.  
Nothing to be afraid of."  
 _Afraid_?  
She wasn't afraid.  
If she was afraid then she would have been actively pretending this "date" wasn't a "date" but a "mission" that ensured the "security" of the Brigadier General even during peacetime. Or something.

Wait a second.

"I told you, General. I've been on dates before."

Hawkeye furrowed her eyebrows, irritation growing, handling the ego patch job with a very different, very _conflicting_ method than her superior.

"Yes, but not possibly with someone with such a sparkling reputation,"

What on earth did he mean by that?  
Why on earth did he say that?

Hawkeye gritted her teeth.  
"Very true, Sir."

They stopped spinning.  
An overwhelming sense of dizziness fell upon her.  
Now, she really thought she could hurl.

"Because, even by your own measure, this is _not a date_.  
For I already know you all to well."

She took her hand from his.  
He took her anger for envy.

Quite obviously, they weren't on the same page  
as her blood boiled and his felt light.

"So, Lieutenant, you're _jealous_ of those who have  
the opportunity to _actually_ step out with me?"

"Yes."  
"Oh?" He obliviously grinned.  
She viciously frowned.

Suddenly the rift appeared.

"I'm jealous of all the women who don't have to know  
your personality as true as I am _forced_ to."

The truth was out.  
She wasn't simply committed to the cover.  
She wasn't embarrassed or shy.

She just didn't want to be on the date.  
Point blank.

Hawkeye's eyes widened instantaneously as she realized her tone,  
her words. She stepped back immediately. This was not her.

"Sir, I-" she choked, then closed her eyes,  
becoming no longer his date but his adjutant once more.

"It has occurred to me that I am not equipped for such a mission as this, Sir." She watched the floor. "If you will allow me, I will secure the perimeter for the rest of the night and ask Lieutenant Havoc to take over here."

Mission. She called it a mission.  
Again.

"No," he said.

She looked up.  
His normally warm eyes were stone.  
The room felt suddenly cold.

"I grant you the evening off." He said, "I no longer need you."

After standing by his side for a lifetime,  
Lieutenant Colonel Hawkeye couldn't help but be hurt.

"Sir?"

"You are not enjoying yourself. You should leave." He said,  
as if he was giving an order on the battlefield,

"Go home."

Riza felt as if she was falling backward. Suddenly, she wished he would reach out and catch her, place his hand on her back once more. But, she seemed to have burned a bridge with her oldest friend and her most trusted superior.

She swallowed, staring at him. His face softened in regret.  
She didn't noticed. She just bowed out and said,

"Yes, Sir."

And he watched her as she left.

* * *

 **REVIEW AND YOU'LL BE COOL TOO.  
** seriously. say anything. I'm lonely.


	5. Chapter 5

*throws chapter five at the wall* okay. here, just have it. I gotta stop fiddling with this.  
I'm supposed to be speed writing anyway, right?

this one's a little longer.  
hopefully it's not too bad.

THANK YOU FOR THE REVIEWS YOU WHO REVIEWED 3  
you are my sun and my stars.

* * *

CHAPTER FIVE

"Riza. Louise. Hawkeye."  
" _That's_ not my middle name."

Rebecca Catalina didn't care. She needed a little something else for dramatic effect  
as she leaned on the bar in a long green gown and a high ponytail and gave her friend a _tsktsktsk._

"How many glasses of champagne is that?"

Riza sipped the flute, held up 2 fingers, looked to her hand, and realized she was only holding up 1.  
She added the extra finger, and squinted one eye to make sure it was there.

She also had 2 glasses of wine at dinner.  
And, a champagne before that.  
But, she didn't say so.

Because, truthfully, she really wasn't as drunk as Rebecca thought.  
She was just a tad tipsy.  
Just a tad.  
Just a little bit.  
Just like a little.

But mostly she was just  
disoriented,  
disgruntled,  
outraged.

Yup. Outraged was the right word.

And, drinking was just a part of the irresponsible process of turning off her brain  
and getting over said outrage. Plus, she technically was off the clock now.  
He didn't need her anymore. She could do what she wanted.

So, she made the choice not to go home.

She stuck around.  
She enjoyed the open bar, sat elegantly on a stool amongst the fine men of the Amestrian army,  
and pulled out all the stops making sure the General knew he was barely a bug on the windshield of her evening.

She was free from that big baby of a superior.

That baby of a superior she had to nanny twenty-four seven.  
That baby of a superior with whom she was forced to spend  
her evening posing as one of his _women_.

That baby of a superior she had scolded in the middle of the ballroom  
all because of childish feelings _she_ couldn't shake since the beginning of the evening.

She did feel bad, guilty even.  
Her stomach churned. She downed her drink.

Incidentally; all of the champagne was completely justified.  
Plus, even when inebriated, Riza Hawkeye functioned far more  
efficiently than the average Roy Mustang.

 _So, nana nana boo boo._

Across the ballroom, though,  
Roy wasn't drinking nearly as much.

He was just staring.  
Havoc did the drinking.

"Whisky for you. Whisky for me."

He set the glasses down in front of them at their standing table.  
He leaned on his elbows and picked up his cup.

"How many have you had?"

Havoc held up 2 fingers. Then added a third.  
He squinted one eye to make sure it was there.

"That's enough for you, I think."

Roy sipped his tumbler while he watched Riza smoothly search for another tray  
so she wouldn't have to speak to the bartender behind her.  
Rebecca Catalina leaned on the marble and jabbered on.

"Roy." Jean's hand gestures were more exuberant than normal,  
"You're at the Fuhrer's birthday party. There's alcohol, the _best_ alcohol in Amestris.

And, it's FREE."

Havoc sipped the drink and let out an "ah."

"This is what it's all about, Boss."  
"Is that so?"

Roy laughed more than the moment deserve. But, he had to do something to distract himself from the burn  
bubbling inside his stomach while the Lieutenant's words of pure and utter disgust repeated in his head over and over  
and over and over  
and over.

A very polite, very attractive waiter picked up Hawkeye's empty glass, and replaced it  
with another adding a wink for charm's sake. Roy grimaced.

Riza's expression, though, was stone.  
She sipped the new glass.

"Riza," Rebecca gave her a rather impressed smile  
as her friend held flute number three, "What's going on?"

"Nothing," she shrugged, "I'm just thirsty."

"You could drink water. Juice, even."  
"Not as fun." She smiled.

She could have just left it there. Riza prayed persistently Rebecca would just leave it there.  
Instead, she crossed her arms and tapped her lip with one finger as she examined Hawkeye.

" _Something's_ off."

Riza rolled her eyes yet with a little too much sass, tipped the glass back with some effort and mumbled,  
"I don't know what you're talking about."

Rebecca frowned, contemplating if she should keep pressing.  
But, even she herself knew she hadn't the filter to stop.

So, she stepped right in front of Hawkeye's field of view, measured the angle  
then followed her friend's eyes all the way across the ballroom.

It was well placed, Riza's focus.  
She wouldn't be _the hawk's eye_ if it weren't.

Riza had been staring at that particular spot on the wall, the wood trimming near the ceiling,  
all the while Rebecca talked that evening. Normally, you would expect Rebecca, so occupied with her own thoughts,  
to not notice. But, she still was a field agent. So, she did notice.

And, it was only when Rebecca tried to catch what exactly she had been staring at all night  
did Riza realize the fatal flaw in her choice in scenery. For right below, perhaps subconsciously,  
possibly purposefully, placed in plain sight, was Roy Mustang.

"Oh," Rebecca deviously smiled, moved aside  
and flipped her long pony tail, "I see."

"See _what_?"  
"It's Mustang. It's _so_ Mustang."  
"Mustang who?"  
"Oh, Riza."

Maybe she _had_ had too much to drink.

Hawkeye placed the half finished glass on the bar, inching it away from herself.  
She knew where this was going. Rebecca often went there.

And, Riza had to be ready, alert, and on post to combat  
every quip, comment, and romantic conspiracy about to pour  
from her friend's mouth.

"He does look very good this evening,"

Rebecca said side eyeing Riza, hoping for a reaction.  
There was none. But, that was to be expected.

Riza Hawkeye had nothing if not a good poker face.

But, Rebecca had always picked up how funny she was about her commanding officer, nearly _too_ dedicated.  
And so, she obviously jumped to the conclusion that they were desperately in love.

However, even Rebecca herself was aware of her own deeply romantic spirit.  
Consequently, she was aware of the fact that it could all be in her head.

But, that didn't stop her from dreaming, much to Riza's chagrin.  
And, she would never hear the end of it if Rebecca happened to catch Riza mumble,  
"It's that stupid formal uniform."

But, she didn't Good thing too.  
Sober Riza would never have admitted that.

"I wonder if he'd dance with me." She mused, "since he's done with you."

Riza gave her friend a bit of a knowing glare then picked up her glass again maybe to look busy.  
She twirled around the champagne within it, all too cavalier.

"What about Jean?" Riza asked, "You were _just_ gushing  
about Jean for the past, like, 15 minutes."

"Jealous, Riza?"  
"No." She scoffed.  
"Don't look now. He's staring."

"You know," Havoc started smoothly, following his superior's gaze to his Lieutenant across the room,  
"It took me awhile to realize how hot Hawkeye is. Those uniforms are too unisex for my liking, don't you think, boss?"

Mustang didn't answer.  
Havoc didn't take the hint.

"But, she's really got it all. Big boobs. Nice butt."  
"You will want to stop now, Havoc."

He didn't.

"Personally, I could do without the uptight thing.  
But, all in all, she a hell of a woman. Brave, and smart and loyal,"

"Kind," Mustang added, completely involuntarily.  
"Yeah… _sure_ , _Boss_."

Even a drunk Havoc understood. Rebecca's suspicions about his boss  
and the Lieutenant Colonel may have been very true. So, he pushed.

"Once you get out of your mid-twenties, you sort of slow down and realize that  
the flouncy, vapid, pretty girls, those aren't the ones worth chasing.

It's the ones like Hawkeye."

It didn't take long for Havoc to forget his agenda.  
In a moment, Roy and Riza were history.  
Jean leaned on his elbow and gave a heavy sigh.

"And, _Rebecca_."

Then he started to sniffle.  
Roy shot down his whiskey.

"Those are the women that deserve attention.  
Those are the one's that deserve the _best_."

That's when the crying started.  
Roy cleared his throat and gritted his teeth.

"Havoc. Pull yourself together."

But, Jean either couldn't hear or didn't care.  
Either way he began to sob, snort, all of the above.

" _I miss Rebecca_ ," he whined.

Roy would have stopped him from humiliating himself in front of the entire military.  
But, Hawkeye had accidently looked up for Rebecca had gone a tad too far.

"See, now he's trying to look like he's not staring, but he is."  
Rebecca tilted her head, "You know what I mean?"

"I'm not sure I do," Hawkeye chugged the rest of glass number three.  
She started to teeter on her stool.

"What happened, Riza?"

Rebecca turned to her friend then glanced over her shoulder  
back to Mustang, He shot down his whisky.

"He has that weird, deep look on his face," she twirled her pony tail,  
"Like the one Jean gets when he tries to write poetry."

"He's just concerned." Riza shook her head, not questioning the fact  
that she knew exactly what he was thinking.

She knew him too well.  
Suddenly she felt like she missed him.

But, Riza waved the feeling away, "He did something stupid. But, he's all good natured and whatever,  
and now he's worried that I'm angry, blah blah blah."

Normally, Rebecca would have teased her drunken friend for using such a phrase.  
But, the second Rebecca mentioned Jean, she checked out. So, regardless of what she was actually thinking at the time,  
Rebecca evidently went a tad too far when she said _it_ out loud.

"Sounds like he's in love with you."

That's when Riza looked up. Accidently.  
Roy and she locked eyes.

In an instant, all the anxiety, all the fury, all the precious work the champagne  
had gradually taken care of in the past half hour was dashed.

And, that made Hawkeye so irrationally angry that she didn't even stop  
to comfort her friend as she began to whimper.

" _Did Jean ever love me like that?"_

But, Riza was gone. She needed to get out.  
She bolted for the back door, into an unused corridor.  
Her chest felt tight. She looked at her empty champagne glass and bit her lip.

Yup. She needed more.

There was a small catering station at the rear of the ballroom.  
Like an underaged teenager, she snuck in, snatched a bottle  
from the large bin of ice bin, then bolted back into the empty hallway.

She didn't know where she was running to,  
but it didn't matter because she didn't get far.

A strong hand covered her mouth, another pulled her backwards by her waist.  
She would later blame it on the six drinks, her captor's ability to,  
well, actually _capture_ her.

But, either way, _the_ Riza Hawkeye  
was officially taken hostage and  
locked in a supply closet.

* * *

YOU COULD REVIEW TOO IF YOU WANTED TO 3  
Let me know how it's going.


	6. Chapter 6

It's been a little bit. Don't believe the rumors.  
Film school is really hard.

I'm sorta throwing this at the wall.  
The reviews have been so sweet.

Be back soon soon soon, okay?

* * *

CHAPTER SIX

Riza Hawkeye had good reflexes.  
Great ones. Spectacular, even.

They made her a good marksman,  
a good man to have in the field.

And, it was those reflexes that managed to pull out one  
of two guns hidden in her gown, twist and kick free of the hold,  
then aim dead-on at her captor

all at one time.

The unfortunate thing was, her reflexes were both spectacular  
 _and_ thorough, for she did end up automatically cocking the gun.

And, when that happened, the man, her kidnapper, stumbled,  
crashed back into a shelf of towels and window cleaner,  
then threw his hands up.

"Do you always have to resort to the gun?"  
"Protecting you is not a picnic, Sir."

Hawkeye's senses were obviously not too shot with adrenaline  
to _not_ notice the voice and respond accordingly.

But she _was_ a bit too frazzled to immediately realize  
 _that_ voice didn't belong there,  
 _alone_ with her  
in a supply closet.

Nor did _she_ belong there at all, for that matter.

It was only when she grabbed the chain to the closet light,

yanked on it, and caught sight of the mess of dark hair,

could she act appropriately.

" _Sir_?"

She resisted the urge to help him up.  
Instead she crossed her arms, her tone becoming a bit more…  
 _curt_ , to say the least.

"What are you _doing,_ General _?"_  
"I needed to talk to you."  
"And, you decided to do it _here_?"

Riza strapped the gun back to her thigh.  
Roy maneuvered carefully rising to his feet.

When he did, Hawkeye was so close  
she had to look up to glare at him.  
It was too close.

But, still he confronted her head on  
and said, "Yes."

"Your judgment is impaired, Sir."  
Then she ordered, "Go home."

She had to admit most of that was out of revenge.  
Nor would she have ever said anything like that to a superior _ever_  
if her blood wasn't 50% champagne and her said superior wasn't so impossible.

" _My_ judgment is impaired? What about _you_?"

Roy snatched away the bottle she had still clutched in her hand.  
He held it up, attempting to see through the green.

"How much of this have you had exactly?"

Riza desperately and uncharacteristically  
clawed at his grasp. He held it higher.

"I've had none," she jumped.  
He gave her a look. "Of that bottle."

Her eyes still shone under the pathetic lone light bulb.  
He was forced to face the fact one more that she was in fact  
breath-taking.

He recovered with a, "That's quite enough I think."  
Hawkeye gritted her teeth.

"Give it back."

Then she slammed on his toe with the ball of her foot  
then quickly covered his mouth to muffle the cry.

"What the –" Roy pulled away,  
releasing the bottle into her custody,  
and held his foot tenderly.

"What has gotten into you?"

It was then the tone changed,  
the space got quiet. The air was heavy.

Aside for the alcohol,  
she wasn't sure.

So, Riza stepped away as far as she could  
from her commander while he winced.

She pressed her back against the door,  
and remembered who she was,  
who she supposed to be.

Lieutenant Colonel Riza Hawkeye.

In that space, she couldn't fight anymore.  
She was exhausted.

She liked order, uniform, structure.  
She liked being the Lieutenant Colonel.  
She liked being the one on watch,  
a good man in the field.

But, it felt as if she hadn't been herself all night.  
For, here she was, hidden in a closet  
with a boy  
and stolen alcohol  
like some sort teenager.

She'd been in wars.  
She'd seen hell.

But, _this_. Playing fish-out-of-water.  
This was still arguably  
a bit of a doozy.

She couldn't do it anymore.

So she surrendered,  
eyes falling to the floor,  
voice sinking to its weakest  
as she said, "You needed to speak to me, Sir,"

"I did," Roy said, standing tall again,  
but then immediately swallowing his pride.

"I wanted to apologize, Lieutenant."

Riza shook her head and gave a sigh.  
"Sir, really, it was my-"

"Listen." He ordered.

And, she hadn't been.  
So, she did.

He lifted her chin,  
no longer her commander,  
but her most trusted friend.

"I'm sorry, Riza. " He shook his head,  
"For not giving you the evening you deserve."

Then, she and he too knew that his regret fell deeper  
than six course meals and string quartets.

"For not being a better man,  
a man you deserve to follow."

Riza was dumbfounded.

" _A better man?_ "

Her eyebrows crinkled.  
She found his face in her hands,  
her vision steadied.

She traced with her thumbs  
the deep tired lines under his dark eyes,  
too prominent for his young years.

But in those shadows, she saw his fierce perseverance.  
His dedication to his country.  
His fervent passion for the ones he loved.

She saw flash in her mind's eye his pain on the Promised day.  
His resistance to save her.  
The swords that sliced through his hands.  
The blue light that took his vision.

And, yet the way he stood back up,  
the way he asked if she could fight along side him  
and claim back Amestris.

She saw in his face the greatest man  
she'd ever had the pleasure of knowing.

Also, just a little bit of a drunken side note:  
he was extremely handsome.  
 _Extremely_ handsome.  
Like _extremely_.

Finally she found her voice.

"Roy Mustang, there is no-"

Then, for some reason, she kissed him.  
She couldn't remember why.

But, he kissed her back, holding her tight around her waist.  
Her arms fell on his neck, her fingers grazing his hairline,  
the bottle nearly falling from her weakened grip.

It was a kiss that had waited ten odd years to happen

And with it, Riza Hawkeye finally understood  
all of those foolish fairy tales  
with the sparks and the fireworks.

Though, later, as with everything else,  
she would certainly blame the feeling  
on the champagne.

Roy Mustang was simply distracted by the fact that she could have died.  
He helplessly and hopelessly watched her die,  
her blood spilling, her light fading.

He had waited while he watched his most precious woman die.

And, he wouldn't have ever thanked his Lieutenant like she deserved.  
Or known how soft her lips were.

There were, of course, more pressing matters  
than his adjutant's soft lips.

What were they again?

Roy held her torso tenderly, then moved his hands to cup her face, and weave just under her loose bun. Riza's hands were on his chest then, nearly holding onto his jacket, trying to stay steady.

They didn't belong in this closet, the ball in the background.  
They didn't deserve this backdrop, one that called for such celebration and bliss.  
Where such trivial things as dresses and diamonds held weight.

Not after everything that happened.

But, there in that moment, the scene demanded a change,  
the backdrop exchanged, so that kiss could _finally_ exist.  
So, that kiss could _finally_ be the most important thing.

"This is stupid."

It was Rebecca Catalina's voice that ripped the two apart.  
Hawkeye's eyes shot to the doorknob just waiting for it to shake.

She was ten steps ahead, anticipating the inevitable consequences  
for running into her commanding officer face first.

Roy just stared at her, stared at the deep scar on her delicate neck, peeking out through her cleverly crafted dress collar. It was almost covered, almost invisible.

But, it would always be there.  
He almost let her die.

And, he hadn't even kissed her.  
Why did that seem so important now?

"It's not stupid. This is the best idea ever."  
"No. You're drunk."

Havoc scoffed, offended.

" _You're_ drunk."

It seemed everyone was.

Riza's head began to hurt while Rebecca stifled a giggle  
and lowered her voice to a scolding whisper.

"At least I'm sober enough to know that a supply closet  
is _the_ _least_ covert make out spot in the history of make out spots."

Hawkeye inhaled sharply begging her friend would make her signature exit,  
pleading she would still have enough solid judgment to hold fast as hard-to-get.

Rather than walk in on Roy's hand on her face,  
brushing it with his thumb.

That was gonna be hard to explain.  
But, he wouldn't stop.

"I'm leaving."

Score.

"Wait! Rebecca!"

Their footsteps faded down the hall,  
Havoc's boots racing after his desire's heels.

Once they were gone, Hawkeye realized she was holding her breath.  
She risked a glance at Roy.

Roy recognized a strange look in her eyes,  
one he had only ever seen when she was young

and in Ishval.

Fear. Nerves. _Regret_.  
She didn't feel like herself.  
She was going to bolt

And though back then she couldn't,  
she certainly could now,  
at least to get perspective.

For love couldn't nearly put one as out of place  
as a war could. Love wasn't nearly as confusing,  
and taxing, and jarring.

Certainly not.  
Yet, the way her face went ghostly pale,  
one certainly could be fooled.

The real question was:  
did he really kiss all that bad?

"Lieutenant."

He tried to catch her wrist,  
but she had already turned the knob behind her,  
and slipped into the hallway.

He ran his hands down his face,  
waiting, knowing there was no catching her now.  
She was a field agent. She knew how to escape.

And, so she was gone for the night,  
her lips on fire, her head in shambles.

Roy slammed his fist into the wall, stifling a cry.

Riza yanked the cork out of the champagne with her teeth.

She held the bottle to her lips,

Stopping in the middle of the hallway.

For some reason, the world felt as if it had shifted.  
As if some stupid little kiss could change things completely.

Riza's heart did an uncharacteristic flutter.  
She shook the thought away, chugged the top of the bottle.

Then she disappeared.

* * *

Keep tellin' me what you think!  
Hate it, love it? Please love it.


End file.
